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“He swears he’ll book me!” Wallace said, refolding the letter. “He
said he needs me, and I need him. I borrowed two hundred from Uncle
Chess, and now it’s us to the bright lights, Baby!”

“And nothing but happiness–happiness–happiness!” Martie said,

“Oh, well; it was only a hundred; and he’s coining money,” Wallace
answered easily. “I breezed into the Bank one day, and he was
boasting about his job, and his automobile. He took out his bank
book and showed me his balance. And all of a sudden it occurred to
me I might make a touch. I told him about Dawson.” He looked at his
wife’s dark, resentful face. “Don’t you worry, Mart,” he said. “YOU
didn’t borrow it!”

Martie silently resuming her packing reflected upon the irony of
life. She was married, she was going to New York. What a triumphant
achievement of her dream of a year ago! And yet her heart was so
heavy that she might almost have envied that old, idle Martie,
wandering under the trees of Main Street and planning so hopefully
for the future.
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  • Posted On August 1, 2012
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